


falling asleep in a chuck e cheese

by ladybug114



Category: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware, Half-Life
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Panic Attacks, Phantom pain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, basically gordon panics and coomer helps, i'm so sorry about this title. i had literally nothing better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybug114/pseuds/ladybug114
Summary: Gordon falls asleep in a Chuck E. Cheese. Somehow, things go downhill from there.
Relationships: Gordon Freeman & Dr. Coomer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 95





	falling asleep in a chuck e cheese

**Author's Note:**

> Never thought I'd have a fic in the half-life tag, considering I've never played the game, but I fell deep into HLVRAI and here we are!  
> Quick note for this fic- I didn't really like the ending touch of Gordon getting his hand back, so in this version, he just got a better prosthetic that just so happens to be colored the same way as his HEV suit. Part of this fic deals with phantom pain, which is something I have never experienced. I did my best with it, but please let me know if anything is offensive or inaccurate!  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!!

Gordon fell asleep in a rickety chair in the Chuck E. Cheese. So sue him, it had been a long few days.

_(Had it been a few days? How long had it been? How long was he trapped there, running and shooting and screaming for his life?)_

He didn’t _mean_ to fall asleep, but Tommy was playing with Sunkist and talking to his father(??), Dr. Coomer and Dr. Bubby were talking to each other about something Gordon didn’t even want to understand, so he was completely alone, and, well. 

His dreams were confusing, a mess of colors and shapes and noises. There was blood, though, and screaming, and explosions, and through it all, Benry's face, hovering just at the edge of his vision. 

Gordon woke up gasping for breath, pain shooting down his arm and into the hand that wasn’t there anymore. He grabbed at the orange prosthetic, trying in vain to slow down his breathing, to remind himself where he was.

_(Darkness. Pain. Fists coming out of the darkness, unseen forces beating and bruising him. Calling for help, hearing Tommy’s shouts and Benry’s quiet, uninterested commentary. And then the slash of the knife, the heat of the blood, the pain greater than anything he had ever experienced before.)_

He collapsed, falling out of the chair and onto the tile floor, still clutching at his hand. “It’s over,” he whispered, “it’s over, I’m healed, we’re safe.”

Gordon felt paralyzed, unable to do anything but hold onto the prosthetic and try to breathe. Suddenly, a voice cut through the haze of panic and pain.

"Gordon? Are you alright?"

Dr. Coomer's voice. Gordon still couldn't move, couldn't turn to look, but he could imagine the doctor standing over him, an only faintly concerned expression on his face. He wanted to explain what was going on, but he didn't _know_. 

"This isn't real," he muttered instead. "I'm… I'm _fine_ , there's nothing wrong."

“Now, Gordon,” Dr. Coomer said, “don’t talk like that.”

Gordon… didn’t know what the doctor was talking about. He almost asked, but then there was a hand on his shoulder, and even though part of Gordon knew that it was Coomer, knew that the doctor was trying to comfort him, the part of his brain that was still panicking felt the sudden contact and could only think _danger_. 

_(Hands pushing him down, holding him, hurting him, dragging him away, throwing him out with the trash, leaving him for dead. Danger. Pain.)_

He blacked out for a moment, after that. When he came to again, he was curled into fetal position, his prosthetic hand clutched close to his chest, his breaths still coming in ragged gasps. 

“I’m sorry, Gordon,” Dr. Coomer said, and he sounded farther away now, like he had fully stood up and stepped back. 

It was a small thing, but Gordon, even in his haze of panic, appreciated it. “What did you… mean?” he gasped out, still wanting to understand. 

There was quiet for a moment, and Gordon knew instinctively that Dr. Coomer was seriously thinking over his words, and that, too, was appreciated. “You shouldn’t say your pain isn’t real,” the doctor finally said. “It’s true that you have no hand to feel, but your brain is telling you there’s pain, and your _brain_ is real, so the pain must also be real.”

That… huh. The more rational part of Gordon’s brain took the words and processed them, and they made sense. And they… helped, too, in a way he wasn’t expecting. There had been a lot over the past few days (weeks? months?) that had challenged his perception of reality, and this pain and this panic felt like an extension of that. But Coomer was telling him that it was _real_ , even if it wasn’t supposed to be. 

“Now, Gordon,” Dr. Coomer continued, after Gordon had a moment to process, “you need to slow down your breathing. It’s not good for you to keep doing that.”

As always, the doctor’s voice was completely matter-of-fact, his inflection no different than when he was discussing his future boxing career or ropes or the Wikipedia article about chairs, and that helped, too. Calming down wasn’t _easy_ , and Gordon’s breath didn’t even out right away, but slowly, slowly, it started to. 

As Gordon stayed on the floor, his prosthetic still seeming to throb, his breathing still shallow, he suddenly sensed movement in the corner of his vision. Instinctively, he tensed up, but whatever it was didn’t come closer, so Gordon slowly turned his gaze to look. 

Sunkist. 

At some point during his panic, Sunkist had padded over to him, and now sat on the floor looking at him, like he was waiting for something. 

“Animal companions can help in moments of distress!” Dr. Coomer said brightly, and Gordon blinked. 

A lot was happening, and he wasn’t really sure how to process any of it (hadn’t been able to process things for multiple days-weeks-months), but he desperately wanted to calm down, wanted the irrational pain to _stop_ , and he really was willing to try anything, so he held out his hand to beckon Sunkist closer. 

The dog came willingly (he really was incredibly well-trained, but that probably came from being an immortal dog created by Tommy), and immediately laid down next to Gordon, not quite close enough to invade his personal space, but close enough that Gordon could reach out and touch him, if he wanted to.

“Okay,” Gordon muttered, and slowly managed to push himself out of fetal position and into a more comfortable seated position. Slowly, he reached out with his hand and started gently petting Sunkist on the head. 

It was… nice. He had discarded the glove from his HEV suit earlier in the party, and Sunkist’s fur was surprisingly soft on his skin. The dog stayed still as Gordon petted him, and slowly, he felt some of the tension start to ease out of him. His prosthetic and the wrist it was connected to were still throbbing, but even that pain was starting to recede. 

“Are you feeling better, Gordon?” Dr. Coomer asked, and Gordon almost flinched, forgetting that the doctor was still standing next him. 

“I… yeah, actually,” Gordon answered, and he was almost surprised to realize that it was true. Dr. Coomer’s words earlier, combined with Sunkist’s presence, had lowered his panic and his fear and his paranoia to more reasonable levels. They weren’t _gone_ , and Gordon didn’t really think they ever would be, but he could handle them now. He turned to look at the doctor and smiled. “Thanks, Coomer.”

Coomer grinned right back at him. “My emotional strength is almost as impressive as my physical strength!”

Gordon snorted out a laugh. “Nothing is as impressive as your punches, doc.”

“That’s true,” Dr. Coomer agreed easily, taking a moment to flex. “Tommy is busy with the piñata, so why don’t you keep Sunkist company?”

Gordon nodded, already turning his attention back to the dog. 

Twenty minutes later, Dr. Coomer, sharing a pizza with Dr. Bubby, turned to check on Gordon and saw him fast asleep, curled up on the floor with Sunkist, his head against the dog’s side. The two men smiled at each other. 

Gordon was safe, now, and it seemed like he was finally starting to realize it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I just think Sunkist should be a service dog, is that too much to ask?  
> Find me on [tumblr](https://jesperr-fahey.tumblr.com/)!!


End file.
